Fairytale of New York
by Hunsdon
Summary: "The light's gone out of her. The poetry has fallen away, and he didn't mean to tell her like this. Here. Now. He didn't mean it at all." Bad Santa post-ep (7 x 10). One shot.


Title: Fairytale of New York

Rating: T

WC: ~1400

Summary: "The light's gone out of her. The poetry has fallen away, and he didn't mean to tell her like this. Here. Now. He didn't mean it at all." Bad Santa post-ep (7 x 10). One shot.

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><p>'Twas Christmas Eve, babe<p>

In the drunk tank

An old man said to me, "Won't see another one"

And then he sang a song

"The Rare Old Mountain Dew"

I turned my face away

And dreamed about you

—The Pogues, "Fairytale of New York"

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><p>It's the last glass of nog that does him in. He blames Ryan. It feels good to blame Ryan. Familiar at least. Nothing feels exactly good right now.<p>

The light's gone out of her. The poetry has fallen away, and he didn't mean to tell her like this. Here. Now. He didn't mean it at all.

"Kate, I'm sorry." He _is _sorry. For telling. For the fact there's no one to blame but himself, and she must hate him. A cop is dead, and it doesn't matter that McBride was dirty. He's dead—a mob revenge killing, and Castle is the one to blame. _Exile._ It's no more than he deserves, and he shouldn't make excuses. He didn't even mean to tell, but he goes on anyway. "I tried. I swear. I tried to make Dino promise."

He trails off. He's miserable, with his fingers hooked in the wire of this out-of-the-way cage he never even knew about. It's a little more misery, just finding out about it now.

She'd brought him here. Bright-eyed and pink-cheeked. They'd slipped away from the _n_th rendition of the Carol of the Bells, and she'd tugged him along by the coat sleeve, tossing him a wicked little smile over her shoulder. She'd slid the cage shut and rolled her shoulders as the metal rang out. She'd pushed him up against the cinder block, murmuring threats. Promises. all the things she'd sworn to do to him. Here. Now. Like this.

She'd tasted like joy and egg nog and the kind of peace that's settled over them since the wedding. Since the wedding at last, and that's what had broken him. The image of her smiling up at him, her face all open sun and the sea over her shoulder. The thought that surprises him every single day still—that she's his _wife_ and he's her husband—it had broken him. That and nog and Kevin Ryan.

He hangs his head. The metal is cold against his forehead and he's out of words. There's nothing to say anyway.

"Castle."

She crowds up behind him now. She slips her arms around his waist, and it's more comfort than he deserves. A man is dead. Her reputation is tainted. And this is over. Him and her and the good they've done. He feels sick with it. Cream and cookies and whisky-spiked coffee. Egg nog at the back of his throat. It's over.

"I shouldn't have." He hates that his voice shakes. How sorry for himself he sounds.

She turns him around. She manhandles him by the belt loops and leads him to the hard-slatted bench.

"Shouldn't have what?" Her chin is on his shoulder and the words are soft in his ear. Kind. Too kind. "Shouldn't have caught a killer?"

"He's dead, Kate." That's worse than ever. The way her name snags in his throat. The thick sound of the words, like it's all about him. All about the weight on his shoulders. "He didn't deserve that."

"No," she says sharply. She turns her face to his shoulder and her teeth snatch. They catch fabric and a little skin and the sting of it is . . . something. It's something. "He didn't. But you didn't put him in the line of fire."

"I did." He swipes at his cheeks. Runs a vicious hand through his hair. "Of course I did."

"Pretty full of yourself, aren't you?" She grabs for his lapel. She yanks hard. Pulls him around to face her. "Think I wouldn't have caught him without you going all _Goodfellas_?"

"Kate . . ." He closes his eyes. He tries to pull it together, but it's her hard stare. There's no hope. He draws a breath, as deep as it will go. It barely clears the back of his tongue. "You don't have to . . ."

"I want an answer." She goes on like he hasn't spoken at all. "You think I wouldn't have been on to Jane? You think I wouldn't have broken her?"

"Beckett." It's irritable. Not much of an improvement, but he needs her to let him take this blame. He needs to take the weight of it. Consequences for the games he's played all along, and he didn't want to do this here. Now. He didn't mean to tell. He deflates. "Of course you would have."

"Damned straight I would have." The words are clipped. It's how she talks to Esposito. How Gates talks to her. "And it could have been me."

"_What?" _It echoes off everything. The wire cage. The cinder block and the high-up slit of reinforced glass. It echoes off him and her and the hard flash of satisfaction in her eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You think I wouldn't have gone after her?" She leans away from him. She's casual now, with her back against the cinder block. Relaxed on the surface, coiled tight underneath, like he's seen her a hundred times in the box. "You think I would have flinched?"

He kisses her. Scoops his arms around her waist and jerks her body to his in an iron hold.

"Never." His teeth find the corner of her lip. It's savage and insistent. Drunk and mournful. "Not for a second."

"It could have been me." She whispers it. Steals his breath for the words. "Me or Espo or Ryan or some uniform following our lead. You didn't do a thing I wouldn't have if I could, Castle. Not one thing."

She kisses him back, frantically. She clambers into his lap and they're shoving at each other's clothes. He buries his face against her shoulder, desperate for the taste of her. Desperate for bare skin. He hauls at the tails of her shirt, and it's sharp, sudden pain. Her shield. The sharp edge of it catches the cut on his palm and there's blood. On the flash of bare skin at her waist. A dark smear across her thigh. A sick, lurid smear across the numbers, the _4 _lost almost entirely.

He shudders to see it. Wraps himself around her, and this is about something else entirely now. Loss he doesn't have to face. _She _doesn't have to face, and she doesn't even know about Dino and the revolver. But it didn't come to that. Not today.

"You did good, Castle." The words are muffled between kisses or something like them. Her mouth pressed greedily to his skin. "You did right."

He nods. Barely moves his head at all—that's how tight they're wound together now—but he nods. She pulls back, just a fraction of an inch. It feels like too much, though he tries not to show it.

"You believe me?" She narrows her eyes. It's more an order than a question.

"I know you're right," he answers quietly. It's the best he has right now.

It's her turn to nod, quick and matter of fact, like it's settled. She slithers off his lap and holds out her hands to him. He looks up, too weary to take them. Not ready to go. Not yet.

"Stop." She stoops and takes him by the wrists. She yanks him to his feet. Laughs when they stumble. They're both a little drunk. Melancholy doesn't change that. "Stop it, Castle." She frowns as she rights him. "Stop looking around like it's the last time."

"He called the Mayor." He tips his head back, like it might help the sting at the back of his eyes. "It's over."

"No." She turns away as she says it, like the discussion is done. Like she's unconcerned.

"No?"

He stays put. Resistance, as she reaches the length of their two arms outstretched, their fingers in a knot between them. It pulls her back a step. She turns on her heel, annoyed.

"No." She draws it out this time, like he's a little slow. She raises an eyebrow. "It's not over."

"Kate. Gates said . . ."

"I know what she said." She makes her way back to him, one slow step at a time. "And I say no."

"No." He's getting used to the sound of it—the taste of it like hope on his clumsy tongue. "Because . . . ?"

"Because . . ." She draws in close. Her body and his together, looser now. Easier, with her arms looped around his neck. "Because it's Christmas. And I believe."

She presses up on her toes even though she doesn't need to. She kisses him softly. Sweetly, like they're still under the mistletoe with the whole bullpen hollering and egging them on. She kisses him, and it's not over. It can't be. He believes.

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><p>AN: Dashed this off very quickly and unexpectedly. I guess I had feels. Thanks for reading.


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